


Sanrion Appreciation Week 2014

by iheartdramas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iheartdramas/pseuds/iheartdramas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrion x  Sansa Appreciation Week held on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 Prompt: Beginning

**Reunion**

Their reunion in The Vale is rushed. The Queen’s dragons screech in the distance as Lord and Lady Lannister talk in the main bedchambers. The maids have kindled the fire. There is food and wine. Sansa wastes no time in pouring Tyrion a cup and then one for herself.

“Either you’ve grown taller or I’ve gotten smaller my lady.” Tyrion salutes her with his cup before taking a long chug. Satisfied, he sets the cup aside.

Sansa’s face is calm except for her eyes. They display her anger. She has been lady of the Vale for almost a year. She’d married Harry and in less than a moon’s turn Petyr Baelish had fallen tragically through the Moon Door. Soon she would have convinced her husband to gather all the strength of the Vale to take back the North.

Instead, the Mother of Dragons has crossed the Narrow Sea and waged her own war for the Iron Throne. Daenerys Stormborn finds her way to the Vale. With Sansa’s first husband alive and well, her marriage to Harry is annulled. Sansa will have Winterfell and the wardship of the North but she must take her lord husband with her.

“I’ve been told that our marriage must be consummated before we start our journey.”

“You are angry?” Tyrion’s reply is more statement than question.

“This will not be like our first wedding night. I am not a scared little girl anymore.” Sansa’s chin lifts up in defiance.

Tyrion’s eyebrows quirk up, “You act as if this was what I wanted. I asked the Queen for an annulment. She refused. Now I am once more stuck with a wife that hates me. Let us get this over with.” He returns to his wine and finishes the cup.

Sansa shrugs off her robe and slides underneath the bed covers. Tyrion takes off his own robes and throws then over his shoulder and onto the floor. He snatches the covers off of Sansa and takes a good look.

“Like what you see my lord?” Sansa asks with disgust.

“Yes, I do. What man wouldn’t be happy to have a wife with tits like these?” Tyrion cups her left breast and flicks her nipple.

“You are vile and I hate you.”

“You do not have to love someone in order to be able to fuck them, wife.” Tyrion makes no further movements.

Sansa takes a few moments to calm down. The tension leaves her body and she lets his hand remain on her chest. Her thoughts are of Winterfell. Sansa is getting what she has wanted since she fled King’s Landing.

“You are right.” Sansa’s voice is even.

“Shall we begin?” Tyrion asks as he lowers his hand from her breast, over her soft belly, and finally settles it between her legs. Sansa nods as she spreads her legs to leave his hand with room to move.

It could be worse, Tyrion thinks.  
It could be better, Sansa thinks.


	2. Petting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion discovers that not everything his wife does is meant as an insult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sanrion Appreciation Week Day 2 Prompt: Touch

**Petting**

She begins a habit of patting him on the head. Tyrion understands Sansa means it as an insult. He does not care when she does it in the privacy of their living quarters. It is the day she does it while hosting an envoy from Dorne that sets him off.

“Would you excuse us please?” Sansa’s voice is low and calm. The Dornish quickly leave the meeting without giving the angry dwarf a backward glance. “That was uncalled for my lord.”

“Uncalled for? I am not a dog my lady. You were petting me in front of our guests.” His face stretches in his anger. It draws more attention to his scars and mutilation. Sansa’s face becomes pink. She hides her hands behind her back.

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry then why do you do it?” Tyrion asks in a huff as he sits down in a chair. His anger has dissipated into annoyance.

“It calms me,” Sansa reluctantly admits. “When I am nervous, my hands need something to occupy them. I can’t exactly bring out my needlework in the middle of a trade negotiation can I?”

Tyrion feels silly. He knows all about using one’s own personal armor but such things are not limited to just bastards and dwarves. Broken things need armor too and he has just humiliated his wife.  
“I’m sorry too.” He gives his wife a short bow before leaving the room.

He does not attempt to touch her that night. He lays awake feeling the even movements of her chest against his back. Eventually the sunlight streams in through the window shutters and all of Winterfell wakes up for another day. The couple quickly wash and dress before breaking their fast in the hall.

When the trade negotiations resume later in the day Tyrion does not say a word when he feels Sansa’s hand descend onto his head. Perhaps one day he can convince Sansa to hold his hand instead.


	3. Birth Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 prompt: AU/Crossover  
> Rating: PG  
> Scifi AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Not beta read. This is what happens when IHD wants all the fluff. ALL THE FLUFF!

**Birth Day**

Tyrion Lannister wakes up on the morning of his fifth wedding anniversary feeling cold. Sansa lies next to him in a cocoon of bed sheet. The sound of her snoring is the only noise in the room as he grabs a corner of the bed sheet and pulls. A struggle ensues which finally forces Sansa to wake up. She rubs sleep out of her eyes and yawns.

“What time is it?” Sansa asks as she gives Tyrion a soft kiss on the lips.

“We’ve overslept my lady,” Tyrion is glancing at the numbers displayed on their alarm clock.

Sansa springs out of their bed. Her red hair is mussed and her eyes are excited. Sansa’s usual modesty is foregone in the interest of expediency. She quickly jumps into their shower and Tyrion follows. Sansa washes his blonde curls and massages his scalp while he lathers up a wash cloth.

“I want him to have your hair.” Sansa muses as Tyrion slides the wash cloth up her legs.

“Let’s hope that is all he inherits from his father.” Tyrion quips as he finishes washing her legs and concentrates on her belly.

“Stop that!” Sansa frowns. “Our son is going to be born today and there is no use laying burdens at his feet before he has even had his first breath.” Sansa takes the wash cloth from his hands, and finishes washing herself, clearly annoyed with him. They get dressed and ignore the breakfast laid out by the servants.

The medical ward is in downtown Lannisport and their chauffeur is waiting for them. The hallway to the birthing chamber is filled with several couples and their family members. The crowd parts for their liege lord and his lady. They are led into a birthing chamber by a septa and a maester. Sansa notices that there is no smell of antiseptic. The room is lit with soft lighting and there is a couch in the middle of the room. The couple sits down and watches as the maester wheels in their baby inside his artificial womb.

“I’ll have to take DNA samples my lord to double check that you’re the parents.” The maester brings out a scanner and pricks first Tyrion’s and then Sansa’s fingers. After the DNA check is filed, the process of removing the newborn takes less than fifteen minutes. He is measured and examined before the septa cleans him up and hands him over to Sansa.

“Blonde curls,” Sansa says triumphantly as she cradles her child.

Tyrion runs a stubby fingertip over his son’s soft hair.

“I still wish I had been able to carry him myself.” Sansa admits. She has never been completely happy with their decision to put their baby in an artificial womb, but she couldn’t fight in the war with a 8 months pregnant belly.

“You Northerners and your staunch adherence to the Old Ways. Only those with Stark blood can pilot a D1R3W0LF. Imagine what we’ll say to little Robb when he asks what his mother did during the war?”

“Are you sure about the name?” Sansa asks surprised. When they had first wed, her father-in-law had been adamant that his grandchild was to have a Western name. At the time Sansa had been livid that they were already exerting their control over her child even before it had been conceived. She’d swallowed her anger because she’d been so young and scared. Sansa smiles as she readjusts baby Robb to lay against her shoulder. His sweet baby scent is all she can smell.

“We are already drowning in a sea of Tywins, Tygetts, and Tysans. Father was the one who wanted a Western name and he’s dead. Fuck him.”

The maester’s eyes widen at the swearing. “I’ll update the family registry my lord.”

Once the formalities have all been handled, their guards escort them to their transport. They are met by a crowd of congratulatory smallfolk and reporters trying to get a picture of the new Lannister heir. When they are settled in their transport, Sansa has their driver take a picture of the three of them.

“Our first official family portrait.” Sansa says as she smiles into the camera.


End file.
